


Pirate Lady Doesn't Really Fit

by tigereyes45



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Best big brother Jon, F/M, Pirate AU, Pirate!Arya, Pirate!Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Jon Snow never went to join the Night's Watch. Ned never went down South, and Arya ran away when she was young to join her brother as he studied under the Manderlys. Soon after they took to the seas. Traveling, and bringing goods back to the North. Until Arya finds herself without family, friends, and a ship. As war begins to spread throughout the seven kingdoms.





	Pirate Lady Doesn't Really Fit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChristinaS412](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaS412/gifts).



**_When the Wind Howls_ **

The seas were rowdy as the  Wild Ghost set sail that morning. Saltwater rises up along the sides of their ship as it cuts through the water. It was a big and lumbering thing. Not as large as the ship their father was once the first mate to, but still larger than Arya liked. A smaller ship was a faster ship. A faster ship could strike and leave before the larger ones even reach a port or bay. Quick, and deadly, Arya’s favorite method.

“Arry!” Jon voice bellows over the sea and crew. His voice had grown deeper over the years since they started taking to sea. Back when father has sent him to learn under Wyman Manderly. Charged with the original task of finding Theon. Now they roamed free. As free as Jon could allow the crew too. They first set sailed together three years ago, and after one he was given his own ship as a way of thanks from father and Lord Manderly. For they had accomplished their goal. Theon was brought home.

“Captain?” She calls back moving away from her favorite spot on deck. A particularly comfortable spot on the railing. One where several initials had been carved into. Stack neatly upon each other in four rows of two. Arya rubs her thumb over one row. She allows a soft smile to grace her face. Then she walks away. Meeting her captain and older brother by the helm.

“There is a storm coming,” Jon wastes no time getting to the point. Her brother was almost as direct as she was now.

“I will warn the men.”

“No, they have already been informed. I want you to take shelter within the captain’s quarters.” Jon explains trying his hardest to sound authoritative.

“Why?”

Jon looks over to Yuron. The man sighs but releases his grip on the helm. Jon casually places a hand on it to keep the ship going straight. As he steadies the steer he reaches into his back pocket. A letter with a familiar seal on it. The upper half of a man holding a trident on a red seal remained. Immediately Arya recognizes it. The sigil of House Manderly. Their father’s bannermen.

“News arrived. The north was attacked.  A war has broken out between the Lannisters, father, and the Baratheons. Apparently, King Robert was none too pleased to learn that the queen’s children were not his as well.” Jon explains grim-faced.

Arya knew what her brother’s brooding looked like. The years they had spent on the sea felt long, but the ones when she was trapped in Winterfell without her favorite brother were longer. Her father gave her secret lessons with a sword out here mother was not around to avoid. It was just them. Traveling abroad together. Meeting commonfolk from every land. From fresh meat off of Wynafred Manderly’s ship to sailors in their own right. Now with salt in the air, her boots soaked in seawater, and the smell of a storm filling her nose. The note was wet, and from the feeling, she knew it was wet from tears. Tears were the only substance saltier than the sea. Only they could make an unopened letter crusty. While an open letter may be maimed by them.

With a deep breath, Arya holds her eyes on Jon. Her fingers feel for the edge of the rail again as her heart begins to calm. She never touches it, and her heart only is calm for a moment. When next Jon spoke her whole world came crashing down.

“Father is dead. The Lannister forces fled north before his troops could meet with King Robert’s in the North. He was captured and executed by Tywin Lannister himself.”

There was no calm then. Her heart was given a mind of its own as Arya and Nymeria both howl. The direwolves below deck accompanied Arya in her painful screams. They felt the Stark children’s pain. Even though Jon was silent his face was contorted. Arya could see every stretch mark join his scowl through her squinted, grey eyes.

Arya goes death save for the howling. They rang around and through her. The only noise that could reach her mind. It felt almost as if the howls were coming from her head. When hands grabbed her, she pushed them off. They were quick to return. Almost as quick as her father’s had been to run through her hair when they were alone. Whenever he was proud of her, his smile was enough to tell her everything he didn’t say. His brown hair, and long face a match of her own and Jon’s. She was never going to see him again. Her father was gone.

When her body begins shaking Arya quiets herself. Nymeria and Ghost were now on deck. Arya knows this due to the feeling of their fur on either side of her legs. Nymeria was still howling. Her lone call was chiller than the sharp sea air. Looking down at them, Arya realizes Jon’s hands had been the thing shaking her. He realizes her arms and cups her face.

“Robb is leading the rest of the army South. Along with Lady Cat. Bran and Rickon are still home along with Sansa. They are safe Arya.” His words provide her little comfort.

“We have to go back!” She rushes to speak, all but tripping over her own tongue.

“I know. That’s why we have changed course. The quickest way home is through the storm.” He looks down at their wolves. “You needed to know first.” Soft words, spoken from a vulnerable place. When her eyes meet his, she knows he is acting as just a concern, big brother right now. Not the leader of a ship. Not a captain.

“Why weren’t we told sooner? We should have received a raven by now!” Arya looks around to see that none of the men were looking in their direction. They were completely unfazed by the howls of wolves. Many of them had been on the ship for the two years Jon had commanded it. Those who were fresher became used to the presence within a few months. As long as they weren’t liars of thieves, they kept all their hands. As well as their attentions on their jobs eventually.

“I don’t know. The Manderlys didn’t say. Wylla and Wynafred are meeting with us at the halfway point.  We are near Duskendale right now. We’ll meet their ship around Gulltown. Actually Wynafred thought it best if we meet in Runestone. Less populated so I agreed. My letter was just sent off a few minutes ago and that is why we have changed course from Storm’s End.” Jon had planned for this. “We are near Kings Landing but with the Baratheon’s fighting the Lannister’s we have no idea whose forces we might meet at sea. So I need your sharp eyes in the crow’s nest, once we are past the storm.” He tilts his head as he releases his hold on her arm.

“Jon you need me out here. I have helped you prepare for several storms. Why not this one.”

His gaze changes. His soft grey eyes became hard and steely, like silver. “Orders are orders.”

“I’m your sister, and your first-mate. What would it look like if I hid in the cabin?”

“Smart.” His shoulders fall as he gives the steer away again. Carefully he grabs her hand and guides her down the steps. Walking straight towards the door leading to their room. Jon opens the door allowing Arya, Nymeria, and Ghost to enter before him.

Arya looks around, half-considering to just jump into her hammock on the right side of the room. It was surrounded on both ends by shelves filled with swords and small trinkets she had gotten. Most were gifts, some were rewards, and fewer were the occasional bought item she had gotten for herself. All securely tied within their spots. So that the only way she could lose them were if they were stolen or the ship sunk. The end of her hammock tied to the top of either shelf through a set of holes they had a carpenter cut into them. Jon’s was a simple straw mattress that he kept a set of sheets covering to give himself some comfort. Besides the table with a map in the middle Jon kept no personal possessions on the ship. Most of them were comfortable back at the Manderly’s home. Gifts to the feisty Wylla Manderly. It just met more room for Arya.

“Are you insane?” Jon basically shouts his question. Leaving the point of moving into the room senseless. Nymeria growls at him as she instinctively moves to stand in front of Arya.

“No. Jon what if something happens and one of the crew fall over again. You’ll need me out there. I’m quick and can replace ten of the men!” Ghost nudges Nymeria. The grey direwolf barks at her larger brother. They both sit between the arguing siblings as the ships leans left.

“The water is growing restless. Last time we dealt with a storm you slipped and Nymeria nearly tore off Reg’s hand!”

“I was find.”

“He was helping you up!”

“We later found out he was a pickpocket!”

“He was helping you! Arya don’t look away from me!”

Arya throws her hands up and heads straight for her bed. She practically throws herself into her hammock. It swung in protest, but not enough to shake her off. It was made of wool, and was easily her favorite thing on this ship, save for Needle.

“Arya you are an adult now, you need to act like one. You are a crew member not the captain. Which means you should listen to my orders.” He pauses and Arya looks down at her fingers.

“Nymeria is too dangerous during storms.”

“Then she can stay in here!” Arya protests. She felt like a fifthteen year old again. Despite being eighteen she was still just his little sister. Not his equal. Not even Jon could give her that.

“She’ll just break the door again!”

“Well we can’t leave her on the shore!”

Arya glares at her big brother. Their family was in danger and he wanted to squabble over what to do with Nymeria. “Jon I am going to be out there. We’ll keep Nymeria in here or in the bilge. Down there, there won’t be much she can harm.”

“Besides the cargo, we are supposed to be bringing back.”

“Cargo we can always get more of. We stole it once, we can again.”

Jon sighs. Arya knows he hated that word. Stolen. His morals allowed him to only steal from pirates. The rest were items traded from other parts of the world. Jon could not let go of the honorable world his father had promised was out there.

“Arya,”

“Captain!” With perfect timing Jarrod walks in. He was drenched in water as the sound of rain hitting the ship grows steadily. “We met the storm sooner then anticipated! We need you on deck sir!” His eyes look bloodshot telling Arya that the fool had a more then a few drinks during his break. If not for hearing the storm she would accuse him of being to drunk to know.

Arya swings her legs off the hammock. Dashing past Jon she runs out the door to embrace the storm. She is met with a wave crashing up against the left flank of the ship. Wynafred’s words repeat in her mind as she runs over to the crow’s nest. In times like these they needed to untie all the sails so they were not ruined. She was halfway up by the time Jon cursed and ordered her down. She glances at him for just a moment before steppinging on top of the first sail. She had seen ghost on Jon’s heels but no sight of Nymeria. Jon had probably succeeded in locking her direwolf away.

Arya reminds herself that it was for the best. Deep in her chest she coudl feel her blood boiling. A growl escapes her throat as she tries to remain calm. Nymeria was probably restless after being locked away like that. Arya closes her eyes and listens intently. She could hear the wood creak but no growls or howls. If she was anxious then her direwolf was doing something else about it 

_ Sails first! _ Wylla’s words drag Arya back to the present. Focusing on her breathing Arya sets her arms out. Reaching as far as she could while the rain pelts down on her. Arya could almost see the green haired rebel before her as she crosses the mast.

‘We’re smaller then those two. We’re lithe unlike the rest of our crews so the sails are our job when storms come. Remember that Arya. If you don’t get the sails you’ll need new ones or you’ll be wandering on the ocean for who knows how long,’

Arya drops down on the wet wood. She could feel the wool under her leather soaking it up. She wraps her legs together under the wood, and begins to work on the knot. It a matter of minutes she was able to get the first half of the knot undone. Calling down below she orders someone to be prepared to catch the sail.

Arya’s hand began to cling to her face by the time she had the first knot completed. She grits her teeth as she stands back up and runs back towards the latter. Wylla’s laugh and playful joke following her.  _ ‘It is called un-stepping. Even though it is called this we still have to be careful as we cross it. One wrong step and we may not survive the fall. If we do we could end up crippled like your little brother. Remember every step counts when you’re un-stepping Stark.’ _

Arya tiptoes around the tip of the mast. As the wood grows ever wetter she slows her pace. The thunder cackles above her head. It was alarming, but nothing new. The wind billows harder against her, as if out of anger. Still Arya continues to walk. Every step felt nauseatingly slow but she knows it is necessary. One misstep was all it took.

“-ya! Come Down!” She ignores Jon’s orders as she looks towards the knot. It was four feet away from her. The mast was getting to wet to walk across. She has to jump it. Taking a deep breath Arya sets her right foot behind her. She takes two steps and launches herself into the air.

As the merciless storm slams against her Arya fights to keep her eyes open. All the rain and seawater clashes together, battering down on her face. Her left breast hits the knot as the rest of her body misses the mast entirely. Arya clutches the rope with her fingers. The wind blows her in the air as her hands hold onto the rope she had to undo. Looking down Arya realizes just how relentless this storm is being. The deck of the ship was as filled with as much water as it could be. There were several waves crashing up against the sides of their ship. Even the half of the sail she had un-stepped already was soggy from it all. It would be awhile before it dries up. Which means getting home was going to take longer. Biting her lower lip, Arya moves her hands one at a time from the rope to the wooden mast.

With a grunt she pulls herself up. Able to bring her waist up to the mast Arya curses. She was already slipping again. She flips her head back in an attempt to get her hair out of her face. With a shout she pushes herself up the rest of the way and wrap her long legs together under the wood again. With a gust the vehement storm blows her a little farther along the mast. Arya tightens the knot she has her legs tied in.

“It’s not safe! Get down!” She can’t tell who’s voice it is calling out to her, but what she does know is that they are on the mast’s ladder and had no chance of reaching her now. Arya moves her fingers faster. Practically tearing the rope apart as she tugs and pulls it loose. With relief Arya watches the sail fall down before she was even done with the rope. It partially unravels as sail drags it below.

Arya loosens her legs as she prepares herself to stand again. As she begins to push her body back up the storm’s power grew. Looking up, Arya spots Jarrod who stood on the edge of the ladder, holding out a hand to her. All she has to do is get to it.

“Careful!” The old northern warns.

Arya was going to snap back that she knows. That all this stress wasn’t new to her or her first time. Before she could speak Arya felt her right foot slip. Just like she was new and had never done it before, Arya’s body is thrown to her right. Off the mast, away from any rope, blowing free in the wind.

She remembers Wynafred’s advice and tries to relax her muscles. Allowing the sea to do with her as it pleased. She closes her eyes and braces for impact. Trying her hardest to move her head forward a little. Just so it wouldn’t get hit.

She remembers pain shooting through her back. Jon’s and Nymeria’s howls. The sound of the ferocious wind. Then finally falling, and water. Water throwing itself over her face. Pulling her hair and body down. The youngest Stark girl tries to open her eyes. When she manages she gets a glimpse of dark, grey clouds before salt burns them.

She thrashes her arms around before hitting something solid. It was wooden, whatever it was.  Arya clings to the drifting piece of wood. Her arms shake as she pulls her body as far up as she could. Her eyes burn from the salt water. She clings tighter to the driftwood as her lungs force the water back up her throat. Once the coughing stops she gasps for air. Trying to refill her lungs with precious air. It felt as if she was sucking in pure salt. Salt and rain. Her body was growing weaker. She could no longer hear anyone else. She falls onto her back and closes her eyes again. Her big brother would grab her. They were right there after all.

____________________________ Off the Seas_________________________

The sun felt warm. As warm as the fire pit in the grand hall. The voices of Robb and Rickon playful as mother watches them play gleefully. A comforting feeling fills her and Arya wonders if she was in her feather bed back home. Safe and in the one place she knew would always be there.

“Are you alright?”

She flinches as the insides of her eyelids grow darker. Someone was covering up her light.

“I’m fine.” She bites her lip. It still tasted of salt. Arya moves her hand only to feel grains of sand cling to it. Her eyes snap open as Arya realizes she had not been saved by her brother’s crew. She is met with the bright light of the sun. It immediately forces her to close her eyes again. Arya throws her arm over them as she sits up.

“Who are you girl?” The voice was that of a man’s.

“A seawoman. Taken and harbored by men on the deck of the Stoolwane.” She lies. A story she had given before. It slips free before she even thinks to ask about where she has landed. “Where am I?” Arya asks as she pushes her hair out of her face. She cracks her eyes open more slowly this time.

“King’s landin’.” the man answers. From his accent and pronunciation Arya knows one thing. This man was a commoner.

Finally blinking the last bits of salt and sand from her eyes Arya squints towards the man. He was old. So old that his wrinkles took up most of his face. A face that was tanned and from the flakes around his neck and shoulders beginning to peel. He had spent too much time in the sun and away from water.

“Do you need help?”

“No. I have family right outside the city here. Can you point me in the direction towards the city’s main road?” Arya asks sweetly. Her lies reinforced by a voice filled with relief. Her attempt to portray herself as a girl that had been stolen away from her family.

He points to a hill behind him. “Just go up that hill and follow one of the roads straight to the center of the city and you’ll cross it. Can’t miss it. It’s the only road not covered in shit.” The man explains bitterly. Before turning around away from her. That was the first time Arya noticed the fact that the man had been carrying a net. One filled with fish and clams. A large portion of the net was empty. Had he fished her body was her makeshift raft?

Too many questions would make him suspicious. So Arya double checked to make sure she still had all of her clothes, and items. Needle was gone. The lack of the blade’s weight immediately sending Arya into a panic. She looks around the rest of the beach to see no glint of sun reflecting off metal. She watches the man drag the net up onto his shoulders. There was no sign of needle on his person either. Arya questions if she even had it on her when she fell off the ship. Her only hope was that she had in fact left it behind. Safe with Jon and Nymeria.

The man began talking again. Arya runs towards the hill before he faces her again. The less he saw of her the better. No many in King’s Landing had ever seen a Stark before. Yet a northern is still foreign and will still stick out among a group of southern commoners. Her father had warned her before of the southern spiders. Their webs were always able to pick out what didn’t belong.

She would have to change her clothes first. A positive about Needle not being on her waist was that she wouldn’t have to hide it now. Arya slides down the other side of the hill as her feet trip over sand. She throws her hands into the side of the hill to slow herself down. It worked enough to allow her to get back on her feet by the time she reaches the bottom of the hill.

Her eyes widen as she is met with tall houses. The beech was barely behind her but already the city was in full view. As soon as the sand stops the brick lay of roads took over. Arya was quick to stand and immediately phase into the others near the buildings. She takes a turn into an alley and looks up to see some clothes hanging. Remembering Wylla’s training Arya spies the windows. They were about a body length apart, one right above the other. Each with a stone ledge on the underside of it. The first was at her shoulders. If she climbed them she could reach the clothes on the wires. Arya quickly lifts herself, and before anyone inside could react she takes a deep breath and jumps. Her fingers slip free as soon as they touched the other stone. Throwing her arms back she tries to prevent another hard blow to herself from the fall.

Her body splashes again. Her thoughts running back to the powerful waves of the sea. This was only a puddle of murky water and piss in an alley of King’s Landing. She reminds herself that she didn’t have to struggle for dear life in such shallow waters. She was no longer a child to short for the good of her health. One without skill and filled with fear. Arya pushes herself back up. The smell of shit and piss clinging to her short brown locks. She wipes her face dry before climbing back on the first window. Bending her legs further down this time, Arya stretches her fingers a few times before jumping up.

This time her fingers stick. Immediately they curve around the next layer of stone and Arya pulls herself up. She lifts herself up to her waist before holding her body there. She lifts her left leg up. She forces her body up on the leg in a simultaneous move to launch her body up towards the clothes line.  Her hands catch the line and clings to it as it comes down with her. Arya wraps her legs around the thin line as she had done several times on the deck with the ropes. Her thighs clap together instead of around the line. Her feet hit the wall as she spins on the line. Arya slides down the line while dragging off all the clothes underneath her free.

She digs through the pile once she was back on the ground of the alley. She finds a decently sized men’s aging, white shirt and a pair of leather pants that she may be able to get fit with aid of a belt. Arya throws the shirt on over her armored sailor suit. It hangs all the way down to her knees. She moves back against the wall and behind a barrel before switching her pants. Once she was done they hang to loose on her frame. Even after stuffing the extra bit of her shirt inside of them. She uses the sharp button the stark sigil on her pants to cut the clothes line. She uses the length she just detached to tighten the pants.

Arya ruffles her hair throwing a few strands in front of her face. Her nose wrinkles back from the smell. She takes a deep breath and pushes it to the back of her mind. Arya sighs as she takes a step out of the alley and onto the street again. She asks a older woman where was the main road. The woman had sun-dried pale yellow hair. Arya wondered breifly if she was related to the Lannisters. Only to remind herself a moment later that no Lannister would be found among the common poor of King’s Landing.

“The road is blocked off by the gate,” The old woman explained. “The times of war are upon us again. Robert and the Starks are fighting off the Lannisters and their bannermen.” The woman explains her face growing taunt with worry. It was as if someone pulled her skin down her face as she spoke her next words. “King Robert’s ole friend is dead now. The poor Stark man. He fell in battle with his eldest son by his side. The Lannisters roars have grown louder in celebration.”

Her heart fell. Arya already knew of her father’s death. Yet she had heard he was captive when he died. Not on a battlefield with Robb. Did that mean her older brother was captured too? She had to make it out of the city. To the North or the South wherever her brother’s men may be. She would find out on the way. The question of her brother’s whereabouts at the forefront of her mind.

Robb’s face was always kind. Even as she feld from their home to follow in the steps of their brother, Jon Snow. He had found Arya on the night before she left. He gave her worldly advice and food before she left.

“Keep that hair tucked, or cut until you make it to the Manderlys. Then hand the guards this note with our sigil. Ask to speak to Jon immediately. If anyone can confirm your identity then it's our brother.” His words were true, and there was doubts until Jon saw her face. His own lit up in a way she had not seen for years. Before they were more than children just playing by their father’s side.

When father found out he sent a letter back to the Manderlys confirming that he had wanted his daughter to train alongside her brother in the Manderlys home. A way of saving face for the Starks and allowing the future Lord of Winterfell to make a decision for the future of the family.

“I see your eyes girl. You know someone who has gone off to join the war. I pray he returns. These days the world is marked by fire.” The old woman pulls her shall back up over her head. She hobbles off towards a crowd forming further down the street.

Arya chose to go the opposite way. Going uphill to hear more rumors in the street as she searches for a forge. A place where she could buy a sword and a set of armor. Perhaps then she could pretend to be a man and join King Robert’s efforts while looking for her brother. Jon will be heading towards the fight as well. As soon as he hears of  just how close Robb actually is to the forefront of the fight.

Her grey eyes spot swords hanging on the wall of an open forge. It was so soon after arriving that she thought the Old Gods had placed it there right for her. Arya darts into the forge and examines the wares. Many of the swords were stylish. Sharp with customized handles. The steel wasn’t sliver, or obsidian. It was regular steel and iron. The most fascinating weapon there was a hammer with a bull carved on the back of it. A heavy weapon for a heavy hitter. Arya steps further back into the forge to look at the swords in progress in the back. Without a hilt there was a blade on top of the anvil. It still needed beaten down from what Arya could tell. Having watched Mikken on oncassion work inside the forge in Winterfell she had picked up a few terms in passing.

Arya reaches into her pants to pull out her wallet. The sword was also being made out of castle-forged steel. This sword would be pricey but well worth the money. She held no doubt it would be the sharpest tool made from this shop. She dips her hand further into her pocket feeling a complete lack of weight. The realization that she was broke hits her like a ton of bricks. Arya thinks back to the alley. She had been completely missing the weight of her coin purse then as well.

“Shit!” She swears under her breath. Arya gives up her fruitless endeavor and grabs one of the lesser swords hanging off the wall. It would have to do until she could earn some coin and or steal a better sword.

Arya looks over the weapon to see if it had any dents. It was evenly made for a southern’s work. Arya takes a sheath from a shelf and checks the size and match. It fits almost perfectly. Whoever worked the forge was skilled in their craft, and not just in some aspects. Arya could respect that.

“I’ll have the sword done by the midday tomorrow sir.”

Arya’s eyes widen and she searches for a place to hide. She ducks behind two of the weapon accessories shelves. She holds her breath in and prepares the blade. It was heavier than needle (though that was not a hard feat), but not nearly as heavy as Robb’s sword was. Arya could move the sword back and forth easily enough. If the blacksmith came too close.

“I hope so blacksmith. I hear your master was so skilled he could work with valyrian steel. I have high hopes with my caste-forged steel sword.”

“I have to heat it and cool it a few more times to work out the kinks. Then it is just adding the hilt. It will take me till midday tomorrow. As I said sir,” The blacksmith repeats sounding more impatient now.

Arya peers over the shelves. A tall man with broad shoulders stood with his back to a night in golden armor. Arya wonders if it was a Lannister soldier or just a royal guard. She lowers her head and attempts to peer through the shelves instead. The view was heavily obstructed but she could make out short black hair on the smith with redden-golden locks peeking out of the knight’s helmet.

“I swear on my craft Lord Humpley. I may not be my master but I can smith like him. At least when it comes to castle-forged steel.”

“Then I await to see the results.” The knight leaves with a little nod.

“Prick,” The blacksmith grumbles as he turns to look towards the sword that on the anvil. Arya withdraws further behind the shelf as the blacksmith glances towards the shelves.

Arya tightens her grip around her sword as the footsteps come closer. She presses her back as hard against the wall as she could. Slowly lifting the sword to closer to her chest. His hand touches the top of the shelf as he bends down to check it.

“I could have sworn there was a sheath here,” He mutters as his hand goes over the empty spot.

Arya takes the moment to stand and swing the sword down by his head. “Keep your head down or I cut your neck!”

“Who the hell are you?” The blacksmith questions trying to look up. Arya punches his head back down. She grabs a lock of his hair and holds her blade closer to his neck.

“I’m no one. You never saw me, and I am taking your sword and getting out of here,” She explains. Slowly stepping over the shelves. “Thank you for the fine sword though. I’ve seen better, but for a southerner the craftsmanship isn’t bad.”

The blacksmith forces his head up against her hold. His eyes glaring holes into her face. She nicks his chin to try and force him to look back down. He lets the blood drip down his chin and the sword. Arya watches it slowly drip onto the floor. He had guts. She would give him that. Suddenly she feels sad about the aspect that she may have to kill him.


End file.
